"You've got two choices. We can pull the mattresses up the stairs or you can use some sleeping bags for tonight." I crack my eyes open sleepily as we pull up into the long driveway completely made out of little rocks covering the road.
"Ugh," I groan, my eyes fighting to keep open.
"Sleeping bags," Dillon answers, echoing my thoughts. I am way too tired to drag a mattress up four flights of stairs.
"Alright, they're somewhere in the front room, with all the boxes." I listen as Mom's door shuts. I groggily pull the handle on my door until it pops open. I nearly fall out since I had been leaning up against the door but quickly catch myself, my sneaker smacking the road to balance my body.
"Whoo," I gasp. I stand up and slam the door, earning a sharp look from Mom. "Sorry," I murmur, following her up the driveway and to the door.
"Ugh I feel like some kind of spider from Arachnophobia is going to jump out of some hole in the wall and eat me," I say to Dillon, scratching my arm. He shrugs and I roll my eyes at him. Can't he just laugh at one of my jokes? You know, just one would be great. Is that too much to ask? I wrinkle my nose in silent frustration.
I follow his lead into the main room, where stacks and stacks of boxes litter the floor. "Ugh, this might take a while," Dillon sighs.
"Maybe not." Dillon looks over at me after hearing my voice and sees me pointing at a large box that has sleeping bags scrawled in sharpie across the front. I smile to myself, and push the other boxes off it and open it up, tossing a sleeping bag to Dillon and sticking the other underneath my arm.
"Phew," he sighs in relief. I nod in agreement. If I had had to search for a stupid sleeping bag for longer than four minutes I would've passed out in a box.
I trudge up the stairs, my eyes drooping. "Pft," I sigh, stomping on the stairs, but then taking lighter steps realizing that this house is probably pushing at least 1,000 years old and if I stomp any harder I might fall through the whole staircase.
Whoa, I'm tired.
I get up to the last floor, our floor, and stop. Huh. It's a lot creepier looking up here at 10 p.m. I look around. Hm. This ain't going to work.
"Dillon, can I sleep in your room tonight?"
It's like I can feel his eye-roll.
"Seriously, Sophie?" I whine in response.
"Dillon, I didn't actually pick a room and I would prefer not being murdered in my sleep in some distant bedroom down the hall." I squint in the dark.
"Fine, fine," He spits. "Whatever."
I grin evilly at him as he walks to his room. "Victory is mine!" I whisper/hiss in a creepy voice. Dillon turns back and gives me a why-was-I-sent-to-this-family-with-this-freak-are-you-even-kidding-me-right-now look. I just stare back, mouth wide open. So, what?
He grunts and turns back around, heading into his bedroom. I follow silently this time.
Dillon lays out his sleeping back and slaps his pillow down on it, crawling in the blanket and putting his arms out above his head like he's some sort of king. Idiot.
"You're going to sleep in your clothes?"
He blinks.
"That we drove here in," I add.
He shrugs.
"You are.. putrid," I spit at him kicking the door open to go find the bathroom and change. Oh wait.
